Chief's Mess

by L. A. Witt

  I rolled onto my back. A moment later, Anthony joined me, cuddling up beside me and covering us with the sheet before resting his head on my shoulder. We let the dust settle. Just enjoyed the postcoital bliss while our hearts slowed down and our breathing returned to normal. I’d wondered off and on if I could handle two nights in a row of Anthony. Turned out I could.

  As my vision cleared and I started to feel like I had bones again, I ran my hand up and down his arm. “Can I just say, I am really glad you picked the High-&-Tight last night?”

  Anthony laughed. “Me too. And it’s funny—I was really not happy about making this trip in the first place.” He slurred a bit, sounding drunk. “But you’ve definitely made it worthwhile.”

  I stroked his thigh. “Always happy to break up the monotony.”

  He chuckled, lifting his head, and oh, I could so get hooked on that dopy smile. Maybe I already was. I tried not to think about how soon he’d be leaving town, and shifted my focus to how long he might be willing to stay in my bed.

  “Well, as long as you’re here,” I said, “you want to stay here tonight? I’m off work tomorrow, so I’m not in any hurry to chase you out.”

  “What kind of question is that?” He ran his hand up the middle of my chest, then drew his nails back downward. “I can’t promise you’ll get much sleep, though.”

  “Fine by me. I can’t promise I won’t wake up horny and expect you to do something about it.”

  Anthony squirmed, grinning broadly. “Oh, you better wake me up if you do.”

  “So you’ll do something about it?”

  “Um, yeah? Obviously?” He rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue. “What an imposition—being woken up to handle a gorgeous man with a hard-on. Woe is me!”

  “Dork.” I laughed and leaned in for a kiss. We made out for a while—lazily and playfully—and cuddled under the covers like I’d rarely ever done with someone who wasn’t a boyfriend. I had no illusions that it meant anything, but it felt good. I loved the way a man’s body felt against mine when the sex was over and we were both satisfied and warm, and Anthony didn’t seem to think this was too intimate or implied anything romantic, so we went with it.

  After a while, I met his gaze. “Since we’re going to be here all night, I should probably scare something up for dinner.” I smoothed his sweat-dampened red hair. “We don’t even need to leave.”

  His eyes lit up. “You cook?”

  “Uh, yes?”

  “Oh be still my beating heart.”

  “Shut up.” I chuckled and kissed the tip of his nose. He just laughed and pulled me down for a proper kiss.

  Eventually, we’d get up and grab dinner. For the moment, though, I was in bed with him and in absolutely no hurry to be anywhere else.

  And yeah, I could’ve happily been three sheets to the wind by now.

  But lying here like this?

  I really couldn’t complain about being sober.

  As the trip went on, I felt guilty because I was supposed to be supporting my sister and the kids, not to mention spending time with them, but damn if I could resist spending the nights with Noah. After all, it wasn’t like I’d see him again after this week.

  Each night, I apologized profusely to Mandy, but she kept insisting I go, especially since everything was going so smoothly with the family, and I got the feeling she felt guilty for dragging me along in the first place.

  On the way out on the last night in town, I’d promised to be back in time the next morning to help her get the kids packed up so we could head to Portland.

  “I know you will.” With a wink, she’d added, “Have fun.”

  My cheeks burned. I was about the most unabashed slut on the planet, but having my sister give my exploits even the slightest acknowledgment was mortifying. Still, I was grateful she was okay with me going off and doing my own thing.

  But the next morning, when the sun rose despite my pleas for the darkness to last longer, I was disappointed to wake up and realize it was over.

  By the time I left Noah’s bed that last morning, I could barely move. It wasn’t just from taking him, either. I’d fucked the hell out of him twice last night, and he’d pounded me into the mattress a couple of times too. This morning, we tried to go one more round, but neither of us had anything left. The minds were willing, but the bodies were exhausted and drained.

  My body was pretty well bruised too, and I loved it. Sex with him was rough, and he bit, and he always seemed to know exactly when to dig in his nails to make me whimper or scream. Fortunately, he hadn’t left any marks on my arms or above my collar. My sister wasn’t stupid—she knew where I’d been the last few nights—but no one wanted to see sex bites on their sibling. My boss probably wouldn’t like seeing them either, though my coworkers would be thrilled to have something to rib me about.

  So, yeah. A little discretion with the nibbling went a long way. Noah had asked me to keep it below the collar too, and I had. As we left his sex-scented bedroom and returned to our normal lives, the collages of welts, bruises, scratches, and bites would be our shared secret. As if I needed anything to make this whole week hotter.

  But it was over now. My bruised, sore carcass needed to head home. Funny how I’d groaned at the prospect of spending ten days in this town with the asshole who’d left my sister, but now I suddenly didn’t want to go back to Denver. Just a few more days? A few more nights of crazy, feverish sex? Was that really too much to ask?

  Except I knew it was. For one thing, I had a job, and my boss would frown on me, like, not showing up. But, also, this insanity with Noah was something that could only be temporary. If I’d lived here, we might’ve hooked up a few times and enjoyed it, but there wouldn’t have been that frantic sense of urgency. The predetermined and finite amount of time in which to wring as many orgasms out of each other as the human body could handle.

  I parked the rental car in front of the hotel, gingerly got out, and shuffled up to the door to the suite Mandy and I had shared with the kids. I tapped below the faded number twelve.

  When she opened the door, she looked me up and down, and smirked.

  “Not a word.” I stepped past her, trying not to let it show that my legs were no longer connected to my hips.

  She snickered as she shut the door, but . . . not a word.

  The room was quiet aside from my sister’s amusement, and only one of the beds was rumpled. I looked around. “Where are the kids?”

  “They stayed at Clint’s last night.”

  My throat constricted. I shouldn’t have been surprised. The whole idea of coming to visit was for them to spend time with Clint and Travis so they could come back later for a longer stay. Without me or Mandy in tow. If Mandy was comfortable letting them stay overnight while she came back to the hotel, then that was a good sign. It meant things had gone well.

  Didn’t mean I was comfortable with it, though.

  She must’ve seen the apprehension in my face, because she nudged my arm. “Relax. Clint’s been great the whole time we’ve been here, and the kids adore Travis and Kimber.”

  I chewed my lip.

  “Anthony.” She touched my arm again, a little harder this time. “I’m serious. Remember, I’ve been talking to Clint a lot the last few months. It was hard for me to believe he’d changed too, but he has, and I’ve seen that. Just, take my word for it, okay?”

  Well, even if I wouldn’t have pissed on Clint if he’d been on fire, I did trust my sister’s judgment, so I exhaled. “Okay. I will.”

  “Good. Now let’s get over there. They want to take us all out for breakfast, and then we need to hit the road by eleven if we’re going to get to the airport on time.”

  I didn’t argue with that either. In fact, on the way into town, I’d suggested we spend our last night in Portland. I didn’t like the idea of being almost two hours away from the airport on the day of our flights. But by the time yesterday had rolled around, it hadn’t taken much to convince me that we should all spend our
last night in Anchor Point. Couldn’t yank the kids away from their dad, right?

  Meanwhile . . .

  BRB, going to get laid.

  Ah well. It couldn’t last, and it hadn’t. Mandy and I loaded our luggage into the rental car, and after she’d checked out, I drove us over to the house.

  As he opened the front door, Clint offered me a halfhearted smile and Mandy a somewhat more enthusiastic one, and showed us inside. There were blankets and pillows all over the living room like the kids had had a slumber party. Which, for all intents and purposes, they had.

  “You sure you’re going to have enough room for them?” Mandy asked. “For when they come visit for more than one night?” She didn’t sound hostile, or like she was trying to make him admit this couldn’t possibly work. Just genuinely concerned about the logistics.

  “It’ll be fine,” Clint said.

  “And if we time it right,” Travis said, stepping out of the kitchen with coffee, “they can come visit while Kimber’s away visiting her mom.” He gestured over his shoulder. “She said Crystal can use her bedroom, and the boys can stay out here.”

  “Oh.” Mandy mulled it over, then shrugged. “Okay. That works.”

  “And we’re thinking about getting a bigger place.” Clint turned to Mandy, an unspoken plea in his eyes. “By next summer, definitely.”

  She smiled. “This will be fine. We’ll talk dates and whatever after I get them home, but . . . I think they’d enjoy it.”

  Clint returned the smile, and I didn’t think I’d ever seen so much visible relief on his face. I wondered if he’d really thought Mandy would refuse to let the kids come on their own. If only he’d known—she’d been almost completely sold on the idea before we’d come here. She’d wanted to make absolutely sure the kids got along with Travis, and probably to calm some of her mom worries. But she’d decided a long time ago that they would be spending time with their dad. They needed a relationship with him. Admittedly—and more than a little grudgingly—I agreed. I was still guarded, though.

  Screw this up, Clint. I dare you.

  As promised, Clint and Travis took all of us to breakfast at a diner on the water. The kids were fascinated by the ships, which were visible from the giant picture windows, and their eyes lit up when Travis mentioned the carnival that would be in full swing on the town’s giant pier by the time they came back.

  After breakfast, we milled around in the parking lot, saying good-byes. Mandy and Clint shared a long hug, and I was happy for her. I didn’t have to like Clint to be glad they’d buried the hatchet. It hadn’t been all that long since we’d all wondered if they could ever be civil to each other, never mind friendly. So, this was a positive step.

  He let her go and turned to me, extending a hand. “It was good to see you, Anthony.”

  Shaking his hand, I forced a smile. “Likewise.” The petty and not terribly mature side of me wanted to assure him it was not mutual, but I didn’t need to make things worse for Mandy. And, hell, Clint was the reason I’d found my way into Noah’s ass, so I couldn’t really be pissed at him at the moment. In fact, I was kind of grateful, but I didn’t mention that. I just quietly added, “Take care, Clint.”

  “You too.”

  And a few minutes later, Mandy and I loaded the kids into the rental car, pulled out of the diner’s parking lot, and drove away from Anchor Point.

  I’d been in Colorado for four days, and my brain was still in Oregon.

  Specifically, in Noah’s bedroom.

  It didn’t help that we’d been so rough that last night, I had bruises that were still fading. And that odd ache in my hip was almost worrisome—if it didn’t go away in a few more days, I might actually have to darken the doorway of a doctor’s office and make sure I hadn’t dislocated something.

  Which, if I had? Worth it.

  Leaning back in my desk chair, ignoring the crap out of the schematic on my oversized monitor, I sighed into the silence of my office. Why did he have to be in Oregon? And why weren’t all the single queer men in Denver lining up to attend the Noah Jackson School of Amazing Fornication so I could have that kind of sex here? Bastards. All of them. Or maybe he was the bastard for raising the bar way too high, so I’d have to be extra picky about who I slept with now or else I was liable to start yawning mid-blowjob. Sex without Noah sounded boring.

  I stretched one of many kinks out of my back, and eyed my cell phone, which was on its perch beside my monitor and playing some Europop just loud enough to entertain me without annoying anyone in the adjacent offices.

  I still had him in my contacts. I could send him a text. Feel him out. See if he was interested in staying in touch.

  Which . . . no. Why would he be? I’d been a booty call. A one-week stand. Texting him now like, Heeey *chinhands* Whatcha doing? would make him block me and be thankful I lived in another state.

  On the other hand, I did live in another state, so it wasn’t like we were at risk of awkwardly running into each other.

  Hell, what did I have to lose? If he wasn’t interested, he wouldn’t respond. He might’ve already deleted me. Maybe blocked me for good measure, so he wouldn’t get whatever stupid text I came up with anyway.

  So, what the hell. I couldn’t resist, and sent him a text: For the record, I can still feel you.

  Wasn’t that an understatement? I shivered, which lit up all those aches and twinges that were fading, but still there.

  He didn’t respond.

  Are you really surprised? One-week stand, remember?

  I put the phone back on its stand, set the screen to show the song that was currently playing, and continued with the schematic I’d been ignoring.

  Almost forty-five minutes later, the phone vibrated, interrupting an Erasure song for a beat and nearly sending my startled ass toppling to the floor.

  On the screen: Today’s the first day I’m not walking like an old man.

  I laughed aloud and clapped my hand over my mouth, eyeing the door and hoping no one picked that moment to poke their head into my office.

  A second message came through: Sorry for the slow reply. Meeting with CO. :-/

  No problem, I wrote, thankful a text couldn’t convey my ridiculous relief. Did you know flying is srsly uncomfortable after getting fucked that hard?

  LOL Sorry?

  Nothing to be sorry about. Good thing it was a short flight.

  Good thing. Before I could respond, he added, If you’re ever in Anchor Pt again, look me up.

  “Oh, honey,” I murmured to myself, “you’ll be the first to know if I head that way again.”

  The shittiest part about working insanely early shifts was that “sleeping in” became a relative term. I’d never quite got used to getting up that early—I’d done it for years and still hated it—and always coveted a day off when I could sleep in. I looked forward to it every time, knowing I’d be disappointed, because when I had a day off and could finally sleep as long as I wanted, there was something profoundly dissatisfying about waking up at . . . 0700.

  Okay, so it was three hours later than I slept on a workday, but it still felt early. I itched for that decadent, indulgent feeling of waking up, looking at my phone, and realizing it was almost noon.

  It had been that way since I’d come home from boot camp. On leave at my parents’ house, I’d vowed to sleep for eighteen solid hours. When that hadn’t worked, I’d decided that as long as I couldn’t sleep in, then I’d do the next best thing—I’d get up, pour a gigantic bowl of some sort of sugary cereal I hadn’t eaten since grade school, and watch Saturday morning cartoons.

  Now it sounded kind of childish and ridiculous, but at the time, it had been great. The cereal hadn’t tasted as good as I’d remembered, but lounging there, watching the shows I’d grown up on while everyone else had been asleep? Yeah, that had been nice. It was honestly amazing the things that appealed to a kid after he’d spent eight weeks getting no sleep, eating terrible food, and being yelled at every five seconds in betw
een cleaning every surface imaginable before doing push-ups on that same surface.

  It wasn’t just me. One of my buddies had gone home on leave, gotten up bright and early, put on his jogging clothes . . . and gone to the park to sit on a bench and watch everyone else jog. He couldn’t sleep anyway, but he couldn’t resist sitting there watching other people run while no one barked at him to run. Another guy had blown an entire paycheck on overpriced dinners at nice restaurants for no other reason than “I can” and “after two months of beefaroni, I’ve fucking earned it.”

  These days, if I was on leave for more than a couple of weeks, I could start shifting my sleeping pattern and actually staying in bed past sunrise. About the time I’d adapt, though, my leave would be over and I’d be miserable for the first week of forcing my ass up at 0400. Or sometimes 0330.

  Maybe that was something to look forward to when I retired. For now, I’d savor the indulgence of rolling out of bed at 0700.

  After I’d gotten up, had a shower, and poured some coffee down my throat, I texted Anthony, Morning.

  Ugh. Fuck mornings.

  I squirmed beside the kitchen counter. LOL I’d rather fuck you.

  Yes please.

  I sighed as I picked up my coffee. In the days since Anthony had sent me that first text, we’d messaged almost constantly. Sometimes about nothing at all. Sometimes trying to get each other spun up at the worst possible times, like when Captain Rodriguez would be coming by my office soon or when Anthony had to go to a meeting with his boss. It had become a game, and as much as it was an exercise in sexual frustration, it did pass the time when the workday was slow.

  Too bad you’re so far away, I wrote. Could meet you on your lunchbreak. You could be bitchy all morning & smiling all afternoon.

  He didn’t answer right away, and I wondered if that had been too far. The mere fact that we were still texting after he’d gone back to Denver was skirting “too clingy” territory.

  But then he replied: God. Please.

  My coffee cup almost tumbled out of my hand. Oh yeah?